12. Contessa
Contessa
The knock on my door comes exactly at seven o’clock, like a fucking appointment with the devil.
It’s the tenth fucking delivery of some kind this week.
I’m glaring at my phone in my hand like he can see it. His thread of unanswered texts staring mockingly at me.
The latest one came just an hour ago.
You can ignore me all you want. It changes nothing.
The smell hits me before I can toss my phone aside—rich garlic, butter, and something herby that makes my empty stomach clench with need. How the fuck does he always know when I’m starving?
My hand buzzes, and I can’t help but look.
I know you’re reading these. Your silence only makes my cock harder, stellina.
“What the fuck smells so good?” Natalia emerges from my bathroom, face gleaming with some expensive serum she’s been raving about. “I didn’t know you had already ordered dinner for girls’ night.”
I sigh, dropping my head into my hands. “I didn’t.”
Nat’s perfectly shaped eyebrows shoot up. “Then who—” She stops, eyes widening with understanding. “Oh my god. Him again? Stalker Daddy?”
“Don’t call him that,” I snap, even as my pussy clenches at the word ‘daddy.’
“But he is stalking you,” she says, moving toward my front door. “This is what, the fourth dinner delivery this week?”
“Fifth,” I admit, watching as she peeks through the peephole.
“Holy shit, it’s the same delivery guy too.” She turns back to me, eyes sparkling with mischief. “He’s hot. Can I open the door?”
“No!” I scramble off the couch, but I’m too late.
Nat swings the door open, greeting the startled delivery guy with her most dazzling smile. “Hi there! Another special delivery?”
The guy—tall, dark-haired, probably mid-twenties—shifts uncomfortably. “Yes, ma’am. For Ms. Gallo.”
I appear behind Nat, glaring at her before facing the delivery guy. “Thanks, but I didn’t order anything.”
His eyes widen slightly. “The order was placed by Mr. Marino. He said to tell you...” He pauses, checking his phone. “’Starving yourself won’t make me go away.’”
Nat makes a choking sound beside me, halfway between a laugh and a gasp.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” I mutter, heat flooding my face. “Fine. Give it here.”
The delivery guy hands over two large bags that smell incredible, along with a smaller package wrapped in black tissue paper. “The small one is, uh, not food,” he adds.
Nat actually cackles as she snatches the bags from my hands, her eyes never leaving the delivery boy’s face. “Let me take those for you,” she purrs, leaning in way too close. “You know, I’d fuck you senseless if you weren’t on the clock.”
“Oh my GOD!” I grab her by the shoulders and physically yank her back as the poor delivery guy turns approximately seventeen shades of red. I slam the door in his shocked face, yelling through the wood. “I’m so sorry! She’s not right in the head!”
I can hear his hurried footsteps retreating down the hallway as I spin around to face Nat, who’s already digging through the bags like she didn’t just sexually harass a complete stranger.
“What the actual fuck is wrong with you?” I hiss, snatching the small black package before she can get her hands on it.
“What?” She shrugs, pulling out containers that smell like heaven. “He was cute. And clearly into me.”
“He was terrified,” I correct her, shoving the black package under a couch cushion. Whatever Matteo sent that isn’t food, I don’t need Nat seeing it.
“Terrified, turned on—same thing.” She pops the lid on a container of what looks like lobster risotto. “Holy shit, Tessa. Your stalker daddy has excellent taste. This is from Vincenzo’s.”
I freeze. Vincenzo’s is the most exclusive Italian restaurant in the city. They don’t do delivery or takeout.
“That’s impossible,” I mutter, peering over her shoulder. “Vincenzo doesn’t do takeout.”
“Apparently he does for Matteo fucking Marino.” Nat is already grabbing plates from my kitchen. “There’s enough food here to feed an army. Risotto, pasta, some kind of truffle situation, and—” she lifts another container “—tiramisu for dessert.”
My stomach growls loudly, betraying me. I haven’t eaten all day, too busy with design meetings and supplier calls to remember food exists. And now here’s a feast, hand-delivered from a restaurant with a six-month waiting list.
I hate how well he knows me.
“So, are we eating this or what?” Nat asks, already spooning risotto onto a plate. “Because I’m not above enjoying your sugar daddy’s food even if you’re too proud.”
“He’s not my sugar daddy,” I snap, even as I grab a plate. “He’s just...persistent.”
Nat snorts. “He’s been sending you food and gifts for a week, and you haven’t responded to a single text. Most guys would have given up by now.”
I stab a fork into the risotto, shoving a bite into my mouth to avoid answering. It’s fucking incredible—creamy, rich, with chunks of lobster so tender they practically melt on my tongue.
“This is seriously the best food I’ve ever had in my mouth,” Nat moans, closing her eyes as she savors another bite. “Almost as good as I bet Matteo is.”
I nearly choke on my risotto. “Can you fucking not?”
“What?” she shrugs, reaching for her wineglass. “We’re going to talk about it eventually. Might as well be now while we’re enjoying his five-star bribery.”
I take a long sip of wine, desperately wishing it were something stronger. “There’s nothing to talk about.”
“Oh, please.” Nat rolls her eyes so hard I’m surprised they don’t fall out of her head. “You fucked him. You’ve been walking funny for days. And now he’s sending you food and mystery packages.” She nods toward the couch where I stashed the black-wrapped gift. “So spill.”
“It was a one-time thing,” I mutter, stabbing another forkful of food.
“Clearly not to him.” She gestures around at the feast spread across my coffee table. “This is not ‘thanks for the fuck’ behavior, T. This is ‘I want to own your pussy’ behavior.”
My face heats, remembering how Matteo growled those exact words against my neck while his fingers were buried inside me. “It’s complicated.”
“Because he’s your dad’s best friend?” She raises an eyebrow. “That’s not complicated, that’s hot.”
“It’s weird,” I insist, setting my plate down harder than necessary. “He used to come to my birthday parties when I was a kid.”
“So? You’re not a kid anymore.” Nat leans back, studying me with that too-perceptive gaze of hers. “Look, is it weird that he knew you when you were young? Sure. But it’s not like he was perving on you when you were sixteen. You’re twenty-three, Tessa. A grown-ass woman building a sex toy empire.”
“That doesn’t make it less weird.”
“Is it, though?” She tilts her head. “You’ve always had a thing for older guys. Remember that professor you fucked in college? The one with the salt and pepper beard who had to be at least forty?”
“That was different.” But even as I say it, I know it’s bullshit.
“Remember your dad’s Christmas party two years ago? You practically drooled every time Matteo walked into the room.” She leans forward, eyes sparkling. “I saw you watching him when he took off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. Your nipples could’ve cut glass.”
“Jesus Christ, Nat!” I throw a napkin at her, which she dodges easily.
“Look, I’m just saying your dad can’t say fuck all about this.” She takes another bite, moaning dramatically at the taste. “He’s literally married to your brand designer who’s the same age as us.”
I freeze with my fork halfway to my mouth. “That’s…different.”
“How?” she leans forward, her expression suddenly serious. “Unless the dick is bad? Is the dick bad, T?”
“The dick is not—” I start, then stop, memories of Matteo’s cock stretching me open flooding my mind. The way he filled me so completely I could barely breathe. How sore I was the next day, in the best possible way.
“Oh my god.” Nat’s eyes widen. “The dick is GOOD. Like, really good.”
I bury my face in my hands. “It’s fucking spectacular, okay? Like, pornstar dick. But that’s not the point.”
“That’s exactly the point!” She slaps the couch cushion. “You’re getting god-tier dick from a man who clearly worships the ground you walk on, and you’re sitting here acting like nerdy Ned won’t leave you alone.”
Before I can respond—not that I was planning to—the intercom rings.
I press the speaker button. “Hello?”
“Ms. Gallo?” It’s the doorman from downstairs. “There’s another delivery for you. Different driver this time.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I mutter. I’m about to tell him to send the guy away when Nat literally dives across the couch, snatching the phone from my hand.
“Yes! Send him up right away,” she chirps, then hangs up before I can protest.
“What the fuck, Nat?” I try to grab the phone back, but she’s already dancing out of reach.
“Oh, come on, aren’t you even a little curious?” She’s practically bouncing with excitement. “The first delivery was food. The second is probably something dirty.”
My face flames, thinking about the small black package I shoved under the cushion. “I don’t need any more of his ‘gifts.’”
“Well, too late, because delivery boy number two is on his way up.” She grins wickedly. “Maybe this one will be even cuter than the last one.”
“I swear to god, if you sexually harass another delivery person—”
A knock cuts me off. Nat squeals like a teenager and races to the door, yanking it open before I can stop her.
Instead of a person, there are just four large black shopping bags sitting in the hallway. No name, no logos, nothing to indicate where they came from or what’s inside.
“Ooooh, mysterious!” Nat grabs two of the bags, dragging them inside.
“Wait!” I try to stop her, but she’s already got them through the door. “What if they’re contaminated or something?”
Nat stops mid-stride and turns to me with the most epic eye roll I’ve ever seen. “With what? Anthrax? They’re shopping bags, girl.”
My curiosity is getting the better of me, even though I want to throw everything he sends straight into the trash.
Nat’s already ripping into the first bag, tossing tissue paper everywhere like a kid at Christmas. “Oh. My. God.” She pulls out what looks like silky fabric, her eyes widening. “Tessa, holy shit!”
She shakes out two matching robes—one deep purple, one black—both with what appears to be…I step closer. Those are my fucking initials, CGG, monogrammed in elegant silver script on the breast pocket.
“These are Olivia Damask robes,” Nat whispers, running her hands over the material like she’s touching a holy relic. “They’re like a grand each.”
“What the fuck,” I breathe, reaching out to touch the purple one despite myself. It’s the softest thing I’ve ever felt, like wearing a cloud.
Nat dives back into the bags, pulling out matching slides in the same colors, also monogrammed. “And these!” She holds up two coordinating lounge sets—silk pants and camisoles that look impossibly comfortable and expensive.
“Jesus Christ,” I mutter, watching as she continues to excavate the bags.
“Oh my god, this is literally a spa in a bag,” Nat’s voice rises with each new discovery.
“La Mer face cream, Jo Malone bath oils, Diptyque candles...” She pulls out bottle after bottle, jar after jar.
“This is the most expensive girls’ night kit I’ve ever seen.
This face mask alone is like three hundred dollars. ”
I’m speechless as she arranges everything on my coffee table—luxury creams, oils, masks, scrubs, even what looks like a jade roller and gua sha set. It’s a fortune in beauty products, all clearly selected with care.
“There’s a card,” Nat announces, pulling out a cream-colored envelope from the bottom of the last bag. She tears it open, her eyes scanning the contents before she actually gasps. “Oh, shit.”
Her face flushes as she reads, and I watch her press her thighs together. “What? What does it say?”
She bites her lip and starts fanning herself with the card. “Your stalker daddy has a way with words, I’ll give him that.”
She hands me the card, and I see the handwriting—bold, masculine strokes in dark ink.
Contessa,
Since you’re determined to ignore me, I thought I’d make sure you and Natalia enjoy your evening.
Pamper that body I’m aching to touch again.
When you’re lying in bed tonight with that purple hair spread across your pillow, remember how it felt when I filled your pussy so full you couldn’t breathe. Remember how you begged.
You can play hard to get all you want, but we both know how wet you get when you think of me. The little gift you’ve no doubt hidden under your couch cushion is to help you remember what you’re missing.
Enjoy your evening, stellina. I’ll be thinking of you.
- M
I snap the card shut, my face burning and my thighs pressing together involuntarily. My pussy is already slick, just from his fucking words on paper. I hate how easily he can do this to me.
“Holy shit, Tessa, are you okay? You look like you’re about to spontaneously combust.” Nat fans herself with her hand.
“You okay there?” Nat asks, smirking as she watches my face. “You look a little flushed.”
“I’m fine,” I snap, crumpling the card in my fist. But I’m not fine. I’m soaking wet from just reading his words, my nipples hardening against my T-shirt as memories flood back—his weight on top of me, his cock stretching me open, the way he made me call him Daddy.
“Girl, if you don’t want him, I’ll take him,” Nat says, eyeing the expensive products spread across my coffee table. “A man who sends La Mer and writes dirty notes? Sign me the fuck up.”
Something hot and ugly rears inside me. “He’s not a fucking toy you can borrow, Natalia,” I snarl, the words coming out sharper than I intended.
The moment the words leave my mouth, I regret them. Nat’s eyes widen, her mouth falling open in surprise at my venom.
“Fuck, I’m sorry,” I say immediately, shame washing over me. “I didn’t mean—”
“Oh no,” she cuts me off, waving a hand dismissively even as a knowing grin spreads across her face. “You made my point for me. Take the fucking dick arrangement, Tessa.”
“I am not,” I protest, but it sounds weak even to my own ears.
“Bitch, please.” Nat rolls her eyes, reaching for the black package I’d hidden under the cushion. “You just went full psycho-possessive over a man you claim you don’t want.”
She’s right, I did.
Because I may act like I don’t want him, but I sure as hell don’t want anyone else to have him either.
And seriously, what would it hurt to have a situationship with Matteo?
I could use mind-blowing, on the regular sex. It would be like research. The more satiated I am the better I can focus on my business.
Or at least that’s what I keep repeating to myself until I almost start to believe it.